


The Sanctuary for Victims of Fictitious Murder

by orphan_account



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A human's death - a real living person's passing - is much more different than the death of a fictitious person. A fictitious person has no free will. They are virtually immortal, unless of course, they reach their demise in their original work. This is murder. </p><p>And with murder comes death. With death comes the passage on to the next stage of life. For humans, it may be reincarnation, or heaven, or to simply decay into the earth. </p><p>For these specific fictional persons, it's the Sanctuary for Victims of Fictitious Murder.</p><p>UPDATES TO RETURN SOON.</p><p>[ Tags subject to change. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

_ "O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, _

_ The Reaper came that day; _

_ 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, _

_ And took the flowers away." _

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

**T** he first to die was a middle aged man - a faunus to be more precise. His trait was a pair of silver claws that shined like steel, laying dormant in his fingers, hiding, just like the truth of his ancestry.

It was the afternoon of a sunny day when the bell hanging above the front door to his store rang. The man gathered his diverse pile of books he’d been gathering from the backroom. The man did pride his quaint bookstore with having every book under the sun, and these were just a mere fraction.

With his texts in tow he headed toward the storefront. His footsteps hit the wood flooring softly, unusual for a man of his size. Not, however, unusual for a man of his temperament.

Because of the towering stacks that he balanced, it wasn’t until after the books were set down on the counter that he was able to get a good long look at the customers that had just entered his shop moments before. Two shifty looking teenagers: A green haired young woman and a young man whose form emitted the color gray. He knew what they were here for, and they knew that he knew, for there was a small thread of fear in his eyes that told the duo.

They played with him for a minute, asking around like they were actually looking for books. In their voices though, one could tell they were being facetious. Throughout it all the man stayed calm and polite, awaiting the reveal of their true intentions. It felt like hours before they finally pushed their plan into motion. 

Once the inevitable happened, he stayed strong. He held his ground tight and firm, the wooden flooring felt less sturdy to him as both of his legs wobbled as if they were weaker than they were just a minute ago. His claws, once tightly hidden under his skin, were unsheathed just like a sword, and swung at the green haired young woman. She swiftly moved out of the way, and the young man was now the claws’ target.

Yet the young man did not flinch or give a look of concern. He moved forward, closer towards the threatening silvery bone protruding from the other man’s fingertips. He raised his leg, and the metallic boot hit the man’s face, and with a bang, he was gone. Dead. Deceased. Discarded. It was over. The fight ended just as quickly as it began. 

No, he didn’t regret being killed. He knew it was coming. He just wished he'd gone in a way that wasn’t in the category of being assassinated. Something more peaceful. That was his plan too: He was going to move to Vacuo. Even if they found him, maybe he could've passed away sitting in a lounger with his eyes closed, the only indication of his oncoming death being the cold sharp edge of a knife against his neck. He would slip on to the other side, without any worries or work to it. He'd be able to tell his friends and customers in Vale goodbye. The elderly man from across the street could deliver one last batch of noodles to his front door. He'd make sure the little girl on ninth street got the old textbook for hunters so she could fulfill her dream of becoming a huntress, just like she’d tell him every Sunday when she visited. He would be able to hug his cousin one last time, and have it be extra longer than the ones before, and leave her with a happy memory instead of police tape surrounding his blood stained bookstore.

That was all a failed dream now, because he had already made the first step toward the void, the afterlife, the ‘ _Valhalla_ ’, the ' _heaven_ '.

There, in that bookstore, that man lays dead. That man with friends and family and loved ones, dead. The first to die. Of course many others lay in their graves long before he received a boot and a bullet to the face. Average civilians, ancestors, friends, family, legends all had died before him - but he was the first be murdered by an otherworldly being. The others are not worthy of note, and are simple, natural deaths. This one - this man’s death - was planned and executed and documented for the masses to watch again and again for enjoyment.

This man was a victim of fictitious murder. 

 

* * *

 

Welcome to the Sanctuary for Victims of Fictitious Murder! The Sanctuary was created to allow these newly deceased persons asylum from the pain and suffering they have endured from other worldly figures who give them no other choice.

There are some guidelines to the Sanctuary for Victims of Fictitious Murder. Guidelines are necessary for the happiness and well being of both the living and the dead.

**One** : Only people whose deaths happen during the active plot line of their respective universe, beginning to end, are eligible for the Sanctuary. Deaths happening before the active plot line, (including in flashbacks of another living person during the active plot line), are not eligible.

**Two** : Only people who are worthy of noting are eligible for the Sanctuary. No background casualties apply. The overseer determines who is worthy of note.

**Three** : If a circumstance arises where a person who was once murdered is resurrected by any means in the active plot line, they will leave the Sanctuary and will have no memory of it. They may remember they were dead, or anything else that the active plot line provides, but the Sanctuary and it’s inhabitants will leave their memory until the event arises where they die in the active plot line once again, thus making them eligible to return to the Sanctuary and regain all that was lost. 

**Five** : The void, or the white room, is always open for the residents to use. However, it is recommended that a person may not use it for more than two hours at a time. More than two hours may lead to unhealthy mental drawbacks. Yes, even for the deceased, one’s mental state can be affected.

**Six** : Rules are subject to change and amendment by the overseer.


	2. The Death That May Not Last

**T** he second to die was a strange incident. Some may not even consider it a death, but it was very much so.

She was very young, with the appearance of an older age. Red hair in giant curls, fitting to her coppertone name: Penny. Alike to the man that died before her, she was not one hundred percent human, no. Penny was a robot. To some, she still is.

This particular synthetic being was ripped apart, piece by piece by her own weapon in a tournament battle. The swords that were connected to her by mere strings were entangled in her limbs, breaking the metal apart like it was a piece of soft, airy cake. It wasn’t until her head lie dismembered on the ground and her eyes slowly dilate that she left the fake body her soul inhabited and arrived on the plane of existence that was the Sanctuary.

In a near opposite to her dying moments, as she awoke in the Sanctuary, her eyes contracted. Her head twisted around, absorbing her surroundings like a sponge. The land was flat and green, a green that was the color of the accents on her simple day-to-day garb.  Flowers of a variety of color were scattered in the grass like breadcrumbs. There was even a sun - not too bright, not too dull - shining down upon the grassland.

A burst of confusion and anxiety hit the android as she stood a little too fast, growing dizzy and having to stagger a few steps to regain perfect balance, like a newborn fawn. Her mouth hung open to make the slightest crack between her lips. Her eyes were open wide enough to make her _look_ more like an actual robot and less of an average young teenage woman. She stood like that for a good minute, trying to make sense of how she could be here, and not lying on the ground of a hard, cold stadium floor.

 _"Dead,”_ Penny nearly heaved, _“I have to be.”_

Readjusting her body to stand straight and composed, hugging herself tightly against her beating human-made heart, she considered the possibility. In her mind, it was unlikely.

_“I cannot be dead. I am not real. My body is not organic. My mind and thought process and ability to reason was all created by hand. It is impossible for me to be dead… and to be in heaven!”_

During her panicked trance, she noticed a great tree towering in the distance. The thoughts of death were left behind in the crushed blades of grass of where she awoke, and she started off toward the tree in a steady pace.

The tree seemed to emit a strange sense of safety to those in the vicinity. It called out to the people that were by to hear it, and it then brought those to it. The people who were scared and confused all ended up seeing this behemoth of a plant first in the sea of grass and flowers, and it calmed them. Like a mother, it swayed to and fro and warmth came from the thick, hard bark that was it’s skin.

Penny reached the tree, standing an exact foot away from it, and ceased walking. The trunk was all she could see when she looked forward. Raising one hand away from her chest, she reached out that one foot distance and held the hearty trunk the best she could with her right hand.

It was solid, and she could feel the natural creases in the wood and smell the forest from the bark. This was no dream, the tree seemed to say to her, this was something difficult to explain. Like her, the tree was confused.

She backed away, removing her intense glare on the tree and turning away to look towards the green that was no longer there.

A gasp left her lips as she looked around the world in a similar manner of from when she arrived here. There was more life, more structure, more everything. Touching the tree had unlocked the true nature of mysterious realm, no pun intended.

In front of the girl laid a pond that stretched around the tree in an near semicircle or a fat crescent. Across the pond were two tiny bungalows. They were a mix of spherical and cubical, and seemed to be made of a form of mud or strange dull crystal. Their roofs had shingles, but they were made of cut stone instead of wood or metal. To the right of the tree was a set of white metal patio chairs and a circular table to match sitting in the middle, all seemed to have their paint flaked off and showed signs of rust. In the backdrop was a grand view of mountains, but they seemed to be quite far away.

The rest of the grassland was the same as how it was before - green grass, multi-colored plethora of flowers - but there was one more thing that was new, and it stood out. A door.

It was just a door, standing upright in the middle of a patch of grass to the left of the tree. It was simply made, with a light brown and a dark, golden handle. There seemed to be words crudely scratched into the middle of it’s upper half, but they were too far for Penny to read.

She decided to ignore it and head towards the small village.

The two room houses were across from one another, each staring at the other’s front. The one to Penny’s right was locked tight, and she couldn’t see inside. Turning around to face the other showed that it was the opposite of locked. The door was wide open, calling for her to enter.

Peeking into the larger, main room, she saw a bed hanging against the back wall, a sofa that looked too comfy for words, and a table with a lamp atop it. Of course, there was another door, leading into the second room. She stepped in, seeing as it was empty, and looked around with more care to the details. There was a window above the bed, and small, porthole-like windows on each side of the front door that gave the room the majority of it’s light. The second room was a bathroom with a hot tub, (or perhaps a regular bath, but it certainly looked like a hot tub), and the usual structures and toiletries you’d see in a bathroom - nothing special about those. All in all, it was the perfect little slice of peace for a person.

A knock came from the front door and Penny jumped, turning toward the noise and readjusting herself in a submissive, skeptical stance.

There stood a man, much like herself in that he was also more than he seemed. The man smiled, and there in that moment, the girl felt a pang of safety overrun her metallic body.


End file.
